at the edge of the universe (will you love me still?)
by bodyslide
Summary: He was incandescent light and my god, you were not a good person.


He was incandescent light and my god, you were not a good person.

You were held together by cancer and duct tape and a fierce inability to die, you were hired by scum to kill scum to get heaps of cash and not even know what to spend it on. You were damaged and worn and broken in scarred skin and aching, aching existence and every goddamn day you drifted further from that beautiful fucking oblivion you so craved, a healing factor that left you not more than a husk, a history of suicidal tendencies burning in your chest the way it burned when your mother died when your father hurt you when you were beaten when—

His arms found you as you floundered in your despair, dreams and nightmares and violent aching thoughts, and he pulled you _closer_ and you figure this is the closest to heaven you'll ever get, with your name on his lips and his lips soft on your neck and his everything pulling you back to him, with him, to the dim light of your apartment to the floating island to his perfect fucking utopia to his arms and his skin pressed against yours, techno-organic components warm against your skin and echoing of home.

In all his flaws and his god complexes and his need to sacrifice himself for every cause he poked his head into for all his plans and his secrets he was perfect he was light and you weren't worth any of it, not him planning you into his future, not him going out of his way to be with you, not him inviting you to his stupid fucking island not him risking his life over and over for someone like you, covered in sins and scars and blood that wouldn't wash off and you tried to tell yourself that perhaps you were just some fun thing to him, a pet listed under entertainment in his budget, a pawn in his game that he desperately tried to reel in, but when he moaned your name and kissed you your worries seemed to fall away with the stress and you could finally, maddeningly lose yourself in something.

It was dizzying, the first time he kissed you, you forgot what to do, you forgot how to think or act or breathe, but things fell into line soon enough and you pressed closer and kissed him fiercely in return, you clung to him as if he was going to drop you and leave you aching and raw. And still you clung, out of fear and worry out off necessity because you needed something real and true and gentle and he was all of that in leaps and strides, infuriatingly, patiently right about fucking everything

But he didn't patronize, but his face didn't set hard and rough the way it should, he was soft and understanding and he was light and he cared so much too much he was compassion and forgiveness and roaring rebellion all wrapped up in a pretty set of straps and a fuckhuge gun, he made your heart sing and god that sounds stupid but he gave you hope that you could be a good person, and maybe you could never be but you would never forget the nights he held your hands and told you and kissed you and told you again that your voice was beautiful that he loved you that he could never be mad at you for being who you are, that he loved you with all your flaws and scars and moral ambiguity, he loved you for you and no one else could say the same

and you loved him.

And you figure, at the end of the world, you'll still fucking be around, that good people like him will die and go mourned and missed and needed while you'll live and you'll die and live again, over and over until something gives and breaks and tears and you find your peace in a cold uncaring universe that leaves no room for your nigh-inevitable survival, unmourned and loved by one that no one else is left to remember. And perhaps one day, maybe the cancer will win out, maybe it will claim you faster than the healing factor can repair you, maybe that's what will kill you, not your own hand or Nate or anyone in the increasing number of people who've tried, but something that has been desperately trying to kill you for years.

And maybe it would be a fitting end, with Nate hailed as a hero, as mutant fucking jesus while you waste away forgotten somewhere.

He mumbles good morning to you and kisses you softly and you want to cry and want to desperately believe that perhaps, you're better than that, that you deserve something better, that maybe Nate will still be around and remember and care and love you and miss you and as much as you never want to see this man suffer you hope to god or whatever the fuck is up there that this man loves you and will continue to love you until the end of time, because you couldn't bear it if he stopped any sooner.


End file.
